The fall, a shot and whispers
by SwanQueenOf221B-RepublicCity
Summary: Basically a depressing little bit with the fall... You should read! My real life friends thought it was pretty good :D I suck at summaries...
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So I was bored...**

Someday I will get over the pain that is my heart. Someday I will lose the image of him falling, the image of his dark red blood on the pavement, in his hair. Someday I will forget that I ever was best friends with someone who called himself sociopath.

Someday?

No, never. I took too much pain. He broke me, I curse him for that. I know he did it for someone other than himself, but couldn't he have said a proper goodbye?

In my mind I can see it. What I could have done.

He called me. I was walking by the hospital when he called me. Why?

"Sherlock are you okay?" My voice is full of confusion.

"Turn around and walk back the way you came." His voice is gruff, with a small catch in it. Why would he say that?

"No, I'm coming in." a step towards him brings on more confusing words.

"Just… Do as I ask. Please." He never says please. Hesitation is my next action.

"Where?" what is he thinking, what is he thinking!

"Stop there." Pause.

"Sherlock–" I stop, and look around in even greater bewilderment.

"Okay look up. I'm on the rooftop." The roof top?! What is he–!

"Oh god…" oh god no, please don't let it be what I think it is.

"I–I–I can't come down, so we'll have to do it this way." Do what? He had better come down off the damn roof!

"What's going on?"

"An apology. It's all true." His voice hitches.

"What?"

"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarity." No. No no no! he is NOT saying these things!

"Why are you saying this?" why would he say these things, he was always so proud!

"I'm a fake." No, I am not hearing this!

"Sherlock–" I need to say so much more!

"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you. That I created Moriarity for my own purposes." I will never! He is not a fake! I refuse to believe it!

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met–the first we met– you knew all about my sister, right?"

"Nobody could be that clever." He could. He was.

"You could." Can't I make him see…?

"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything I could to impress you. It's a trick. It's just a magic trick." No, it was brilliant. It was his brilliant deducting skills.

"No. Alright, stop it now." I started forward again, but his words froze me.

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move."

"Alright." How could I disagree with him?

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?" No, this wasn't happening. Horror kept me rooted to the spot.

"Do what?" dare I even ask?

"This phone call, it's… it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note." No. No this was not a suicide note!

"Leave a note when?" my eyes felt hot, I feared them brimming over.

"Goodbye, John."

But before he could drop his phone I ran. I do not know how I ran so fast. I ran as he tipped forward. I ran to reach him, and I did. But then I heard a gunshot. A pain in my chest. Hot. Fiery. Like when my shoulder was shot. I am familiar with this pain. He lands on me as I fall. He groans. He is alive. Barely. But me… I don't know.

"John?" he wheezes.

I look at him.

"You idiot, you have to keep living. You are not a fake, you are Sherlock–" I gasp for air. "Sherlock Holmes. You are Sherlock Holmes, and don't you forget that." a little blood accompanies my next words. "Keep living, keep living for me." I think I broke a number of bones as well... oh well… I saved him.

"No! John! Ambulance!"

I just look at him. "Not this time, Sherlock. The chances of my recovery are about ten-to-one."

"Then we better be lucky!"

I don't think so. Because this is not what I could have done, it's what I did do.

I, John Hamish Watson gave up my life for my best friend. He can't save me, though. He will live. That is for the better.

"John, you are going to live. I promise you. And we will solve cases! More cases!" Sherlock's words barely reach my mind.

The next thing I register is the weight of a hand in my hand. A bright white light. Blinking lights. Soft whispered words. Sherlock's soft whispers.

"John. You can't leave me. Not when there are so many unsaid things. So stay with me forever, alright? Because you aren't allowed to die."

And I breath in a sharp breath.


	2. Chapter 2

_"John. You can't leave me. Not when there are so many unsaid things. So stay with me forever, all right? Because you aren't allowed to die."_

Sherlock's POV

He doesn't respond. John doesn't respond. He only takes a sharp intake of breath. But then his heart rate is back to a slow, shallow _thump… thump… thump…_ so slow and so hesitant. A nurse comes in, tells me to leave. I refuse. Her words are distant, not reaching my ever-sharp hearing. My mind whirls, trying to deduce things that make no sense. John. John is still breathing. Still has a heart beat. John Watson is dying. John Watson sacrificed his life for me. NO. He _has _tolive. John Watson will continue being my flat mate and continue being my best, my only, my truest friend. John Watson is still barely breathing. John Watson's heart is speeding up. John Watson is opening his eyes. John Watson is looking at me. John Watson is smiling. John Watson's lips are moving. I turn away. Why can't John just be _alive! _I give up and walk slowly away. Then I realize. Eyes. Looking. At. Me. I rush back over before he could think I would leave him.

"John?" my voice nearly breaks.

"Hmmph." John groans and huffs into his pillow.

"Hello, John. That was idiotic. That was so idiotic I think I might just have to thank you for it. Hmm, thank you? Maybe more like… like…" honestly I am lost for words.

"What about–" John pauses to take a breath. "How about you don't go and jump of any more–erhg! Hospitals!" John can barely talk; his voice is scratchy from the oxygen and moving his rib cage must hurt.

"John… John I had to jump. I had to jump so Moriarity wouldn't–wouldn't kill you. I wasn't going to die. It was all planned. Only you had to act on your… On your human loyalty and be a hero to rescue me. Don't you ever do something like that again, you understand me?" I close my eyes, steadying my beating heart.

John grins, even if it's a little pained. "Is that an order? Did Sherlock Holmes just order me not to die again?"

I just glare at him, trying to look aloof.

He laughs a bit. "And you say you aren't a hero!"

"I am most certainly not! Heroes don't tell other heroes to stop being heroic!"

"No, no I mean you were jumping to save my life, correct?" John stares intently into my eyes.

"Well yes, but–"

"So that makes you a hero!" John grins even wider, and with less pain. Then with a contented sigh, he lies back down, shutting out the world in a drugged sleep.

"But I am no hero… You are… John Watson, you are the greatest hero I have ever met." I say to my sleeping flat mate.

John has to stay at the hospital for a total of six full days, four more hours, seventeen minutes, and… I check the clock again… twenty-three seconds before he can leave and go home with me to our flat on Baker Street. He is waiting for a nurse to give him some painkillers. I hat those little pills. They keep reminding me of his two broken ribs and a third that has cracked a little. Though they aren't visible through John's jumper, bleached white bandages wrap around his entire chest. I observe him, watching as he winces a little at coughing. His lungs are still quite raw from so many airborne sedatives. In the first few days he had rarely been conscious, and when he was he was violent and unsure of his surroundings. The nurses soon discovered my presence helped, and let me sit by him while they operated.

"Sherlock? Could I, erm, have a hand?" John interrupts my thoughts. He looks at me with a slightly embarrassed smile and gestures to his cane, which had fallen to the floor. Oh that hateful object. But John needs it.

I sweep up the cane and, handing it to him, say, "I hope you heal quickly, for how can I ever attend a crime without you! I'd be lost without my blogger!" the words ring in ears, memories flitting through my mind.

John slumps a little. "I'm going to be pretty useless for a while, I'm afraid. I'll be rather down for a couple of months. Sorry, Sherlock." He sort of mumbles the last bit.

I notice how his eyes look down, his shoulders sag, and he doesn't face me. Embarrassed by his weakness. "Come now, all that can wait! Let's go home to 221, shall we?"

John sighs, thanking a nurse on his way out. He stops outside, squaring himself as if he is about to go into battle. Oh why did this have to happen?! John doesn't deserve this!

I quickly bury my frustration, hailing a cab so we could get home as soon as possible.

The ride home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. John must be tired, but I don't comment on it or try and deduce him. For once, I will leave him be.

At 22b Baker Street, hot tea and a plate of biscuits is sitting on a stack of books on the coffee table. John falls onto the couch and not his usual armchair, not bothering about his coat. I tentatively sit down near him, and pull out a report of a recent crime. However, all my thoughts are directed at the man next to me. What am I going to do for two months if he can't run about London with me? Will I have to care for him? Will I have to repay him for what he did, even if it was foolish?

"Sherlock? You alright?" John looks at me with a slightly worried expression.

"Yes, I am perfectly fine. Why?"

"Because you're holding that report upside down…" I detect a slight chuckle behind his words.

"Yes, I realize that! I was…" But no intelligent conclusion comes out. I hide slightly behind the now ride side up report, pretending to be very busy. After a few minutes I am greatly shocked by a weight on my shoulder. John has fallen asleep with his head on my shoulder.

Now what do I do?!


End file.
